Hey Reader, I am glad I GET TO share this with you today.
I was making popcorn the other night, and for some reason I just stood there, watching it spin on the microwave tray like it was some kind of cosmic event. Pop. Spin. Pop pop. Spin. It was oddly mesmerizing. And somewhere between the first kernel and that long awkward pause where you wonder if it’s done or just being dramatic, my mind wandered.
I used to get so excited for popcorn nights. It meant movie marathons, late-night ideas, or just slowing down enough to enjoy something small. But lately, it has felt more like a task. Another thing to check off while juggling a hundred others. I wasn’t watching the popcorn because I was enchanted. I was watching it because I was too mentally tired to do anything else.
And it got me thinking…
There’s a strange in-between space that I’ve found myself living in lately: somewhere between Have To and Get To. It’s that place where your passion slowly morphs into pressure. Where the things you once loved now feel like obligations wrapped in calendar reminders and late-night guilt. You still care. You still want to be great. But the joy that used to fuel you now feels more like fumes.
That’s the thing they don’t warn you about when your hobby becomes your job, or when your mission becomes your brand. You begin to operate like you're always “on.” The line between inspiration and expectation gets blurry. You start saying things like “I have to film,” “I have to go to practice,” “I have to write this newsletter.” The spark starts sounding like a sigh.
But here’s the plot twist: most of us chose this. We signed up. We get to do this work. We just forget that sometimes.
This shift happens to athletes too. That kid who begged to try soccer is now waking up at 6 a.m. dreading training. The player who couldn’t wait to make varsity now fears walking past the lineup board. The parent who used to cheer loudly now sits in silence, tired and wondering why every weekend feels like logistics boot camp. Passion, over time, has a way of becoming performance. And if we don’t catch it, if we don’t name it, it can quietly drain us.
The trick isn’t to force ourselves back into joy. That’s a fast-track to burnout. The trick is to pause, to reconnect, to remember why we showed up in the first place.
Athletes, maybe it’s not about loving every sprint or every practice. Maybe it’s about finding one part of your game that you still look forward to and starting there. Coaches, maybe it’s time to change something just for the sake of shaking off the rust: one new drill, one unexpected playlist, one minute of silliness before warm-ups. And parents, maybe it’s ok to admit that you're tired too. That doesn't mean you’ve failed. It means you care. A lot.
We don’t always need to hit a grand reset button. Sometimes, we just need to swap a single word. “I have to coach practice tonight” becomes “I get to coach practice tonight.” It’s small. But it matters. And more importantly, it reminds us that we still have the power to choose joy, even in the grind.
Because maybe the work didn’t change. Maybe we just forgot how fun it was to watch the popcorn spin.
So yeah, back to the popcorn.
I did end up making another bag later that night. Cold popcorn is just sadness in kernel form. This time, I didn’t stare at it. I cleaned up the kitchen while it popped. I danced a little to the random song playing. And when it was done, I actually sat down, put my phone away, and watched a whole episode of some guilty-pleasure show I’ll never publicly admit to liking.
And just like that, it wasn’t a have to moment anymore. It became a get to.
Maybe that’s the challenge for all of us this week: find one thing, just one, that’s been feeling heavy. Then try to lighten it. Change the language. Shift the lens. Remind yourself why you started it in the first place. You don’t have to force joy, but you do get to look for it.
And if nothing else… watch the popcorn. It’s still kind of magical.